


Blackbird Flies

by RedDeadDoofus



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: AU, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Dirty Talk, F/M, Femoral sex, Grinding, Intercrural Sex, Manhandling, Naked Female Clothed Male, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Thighjob, Vaginal Fingering, Virginity, Young Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDeadDoofus/pseuds/RedDeadDoofus
Summary: “Of course I’d come, Kitten.” His own grin faded a little as his eyes searched yours. The brightness of them rivalled the sky - so blue they almost burned. You were putty in that gaze. One of his rough hands cupped your chin gently. His thumb traced a burning pattern along your jaw. Achingly slowly he lent forward. A big finger pulled your chin up, and you found you were already leaning forward in expectation.His lips were firm and insistent. Demanding. It was a deliciously demanding kiss. When his mouth parted against yours you welcomed his tongue eagerly, fisting your hands into his collar and arching against him. Arthur’s breath tasted of tobacco, mint, and a hint of coffee. You swallowed the little sigh he gave as you clenched him closer, but before you could enmesh your fingers in his hair, he was pulling away.Your breath tangled together as you clung to one another, both breathing hard. Arthur gently bumped his nose against yours, tracing the shape of your face while he caught his breath. After a moment he smiled.“Ain’t nothin’ could keep me away from you.”[A one-shot in which young Arthur reunites with his girl.]
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan & Reader, Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 128





	Blackbird Flies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pokey_jr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokey_jr/gifts), [Verai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verai/gifts), [Callmekilgore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmekilgore/gifts).



> Shout out to the amazing Verai, CallMeKilgore, and Pokey_jr, who without their support and inspiration, I would not have written this. 
> 
> Here it is! My filthy contribution to yeehawgust - Delivered on the last possible day, but by god I DID IT. Enjoy!

“Kittie! Where’ you at?” 

Your father’s bellow rippled through the field. You could see him there on the outskirts, his face cross and wearing his Sunday best. He hollered again, and you shimmied tighter against the willow tree which shielded you from his view. With a little smile, you stilled and held your breath. He was still grumbling something fierce, but you knew there wasn’t a chance he’d trudge his way out through the field to come look for you - Not with his church clothes on, anyway. 

Your own clothes were filthy. If you had been in your church best, they would have been ruined. As it was, you were in no way dressed for a Sunday congregation. You’d gone without petticoats beneath your cotton skirt, and you’d elected to knot it at the knee for ease of movement. Your blouse was old and holey and well suited only for a mid-morning wetland romp. Your sleeve cuffs had been rolling down your arms constantly, so you’d ended up twisting them sloppily into a high cuff above your elbows. The harsh tan lines you’d been fostering all summer peeked out from beneath your sleeves. 

Papa wouldn’t have wanted you caught dead wearing this in church. Fortunately, you had no intention of going to church today. The field which separated you from his frustrated figure was wild and pitted with vole holes and marshy mud. The shoulder-high yellow reeds and wheat grass probably could have hid you well enough on their own, but you hadn’t wanted to chance being found. Not today. Not when _he’d_ promised to come. 

On the day you had first met him, you hadn’t wanted to go into town either. You’d been grudgingly pulled from the wilds by Mrs. Arlene, your well meaning older neighbor. She’d successfully convinced Papa that you needed an older female role model in your life, to guide you and mold you into a proper young lady. Neither of them seemed to want to accept that it was much too late in life for that to happen for you. She’d been dragging you down main street by the arm, chiding you for one thing or another, when she decided you needed better, more fashionable, clothes. 

You’d been resigned, already accepting your fate, when she’d pulled you into the tiny general store. It had not been empty. As the bell above the door tinkled at your entrance, your entourage was met by the curious stares of four men. One man, the near-deaf grocer, Mr. Bevan, immediately disregarded you and your warden and returned his attention to his customers. Two of the men returned to perusing Bevan’s catalogue. One of them, a lean, handsome man with graying hair, murmured something to his well-dressed companion. 

The fourth man was barely a man at all. He’d been scarcely in his early twenties then, and he’d been awkward in his height. And yet, the spread of his shoulders and holsters on his hips carried with them the promise of a quiet threat. You had not felt threatened. When he’d realized you’d caught him staring and you had grinned wickedly back, he’d flushed and smiled slightly before looking away. You’d known then that you would never have anything to fear from Arthur Morgan. 

So here you were, two years later, pressed to the bark of the old willow and grinning giddily at the sound of your father giving up and clambering onto the family’s wagon. The old mule protested, but the sound of wheels churning slowly on dirt followed. You did not move until you no longer heard either the slap of reins nor the dull clopping of hooves. 

When the calls of red-wing blackbirds slowly resumed, you dropped to the ground and immediately went to work untying your shoes. They were already caked in mud, and they’d only hinder you. You weren’t worried about Arthur seeing you like this. In fact, you’d probably be more embarrassed if he saw you corseted up and neat. That wasn’t you. 

Unfettered by your boots and stockings, you kicked them to the base of the tree and scooped up your sketchbook and pencils. You had so many new drawings you wanted to show him, but there was one in particular you were both excited and nervous about, as you had intended it specifically for him. It was an osprey you had illustrated, mid-dive and with talons outstretched. You’d almost torn it out to give to him, but the last time you’d marred the page of a sketchbook for him he’d been so aghast that he had bought you a brand new one. As a result of that episode, this drawing had been carefully snipped away from the others and tenderly tucked between the pages. 

The sketch wasn’t all you wanted to give him. Nervous giddiness tangled your gut as you ventured out deeper into the wetlands. You squashed it down, and instead tried to focus on the excitement you felt buzzing through your body. At the edge of the reeds, the lazy ripples of river water beckoned your bare feet. When you eased yourself down and into it, the cold water took your breath away. Mud clouded the water where you had disturbed it, and you waited until it cleared to continue moving. Tadpoles and cutthroat trout fry flitted through the clear waters around your ankles. The water grew deeper ahead, but you knew just where to step to traverse the sleepy river. Your feet were numb from cold by the time you stepped gratefully back onto solid dry ground. 

Light dappled over your body as you slipped beneath the aspen grove. If you had been giddy before, now you were well and truly entirely restless. Your eyes combed the grove quickly, and you felt your brows furrow as you failed to see anything aside from the trunks of hundreds of trees. The surly, dark form of Arthur’s quarter horse, Atlas, was usually tethered in this grove. It was his preferred hitching spot, as it gave Atlas both ample grazing and kept him away from the prying eyes of any wayward passerby. 

With a sinking heart, you pushed your way through the grove. Perhaps you were just early. He was likely just held up by Dutch and Hosea. He was fine. There was absolutely no reason to start worrying, particularly as Arthur had never missed one of their woodland meetups before. Your heart in your throat, you stepped from the shade of the trees and out into the light of the meadow. 

Owl-clover and early blue violets dotted the tall grass. The soft colors of the morning light were slowly burning away, yielding instead to the rising heat and the extreme blue of the near-cloudless sky. Your eyes scoured the vistage in front of you, ignoring the beauty of the scene. You could feel the bad taste of anxiety rising in the back of your throat. The meadow was empty. In the center of the stretch of wildflowers rose a slight swell of a hill, shaded beneath an ancient big leaf maple tree. 

And there in the shade, propped against a fallen log, a well-oiled saddle and saddlebags, spread over a wool blanket. You frowned, and tentatively stepped forward, mouth opening to call out. 

“Arth-?”

Something moved in your periphery. You shrieked and attempted to skid away, but it was too late. Broad arms slipped around your waist and held fast, lifting you into the air. Your sketchbook dropped to the ground, temporarily forgotten in lieu of tightly gripping the broad hands crossed over your hips. The visage of the tree and meadow blurred together as you were spun quickly in a tight circle. Had you been expecting the assault, you might have been in better control of your voice. 

As it was you were entirely unable to restrain yourself. Your shriek slipped higher into a light scream, and then into an indignant squawk. The ungraceful sound was met by an answering deep, carefree laugh. The scratch of unshaven stubble tickled the skin of your neck as your captor pressed a barrage of open mouthed kisses there. Your mouth was stretched into a wide smile even before your twirling slowed to a halt. 

As your incarcerator gently lowered you back onto your feet he peppered the sides of your neck, cheek, and forehead with speedy kisses. Your mind was suddenly heady with the scent of pine, leather, horse, and the subtle bite of mint. Suddenly unable to think of anything else, you asked the first thing that you could think of.

“Where’s Atlas?” Your voice was breathless even to your own ears. 

Arthur Morgan pivoted you towards him, grinning as the momentum pushed you against his broad chest. He’d filled out since you’d first seen him, all those years ago. His broad shoulders stretched beneath your hands when you slid them across his back. His own hands, no longer too big, encompassed your entire waist easily. His grip was gentle, but firm and thoroughly unyielding. No one could rightly call Arthur Morgan a boy anymore. A thrill down your body reminded you that he was all man - and he was all yours. 

A slight sunburn colored the area on his face that his hat did not. Namely, you noticed with amusement and adoration, from the tip of his nose to the lower portion of his cheeks. Similarly, feverish spots of heat colored his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. Seeing him like this it was almost easy to forget that he was wanted across two territories and a state. Only the well cleaned double-action revolvers on his hips and the fresh stripe of scars on his chin belied his charm. 

“Atlas?” He repeated, lowering his lips to yours. They hovered there, barely brushing yours. He brushed his upper lip to your lower, achingly lightly. You could feel his smirk. “Why?” He asked.

You didn’t grace that with an answer. Instead you surged forward, catching his lips forcefully with your own. A soft noise rumbled beneath the hands you had braced on his chest as he sank into the kiss. His lips bordered on dry and chapped, but he was soft and gentle even as he met your intensity. 

When you pulled away, panting a little, you were satisfied to see that despite his remaining smirk he was breathing as hard as you were. The shock of his hazel eyes burned with feverish excitement.

“I hobbled him to let him graze.” That ineffable crooked grin grew a little wider. “Why, did ya’ think I wouldn’ come?”

“Yes!” You cried indignantly, smacking his chest lightly. “You think this is funny?”

Arthur’s answering laugh was muffled as he ducked to pick up your abandoned sketchbook. When he straightened to his full height he tucked it into the satchel on his hip. Your brows knitted themselves together as you opened your mouth, prepared to reprimand him and demand it back. Before you could speak he dropped slightly and, in one smooth move, swept an arm behind your knees. His other darted behind your neck, gently catching you as he scooped up your body easily. 

To your annoyance, you squeaked again when he teasingly hefted your weight a good inch or two up into the air and caught you again. His hat slipped forward with the action. As he strode forward and toward the big maple before you, you couldn’t quite see his eyes. However, that smile was still there, as quirked and playfully impish as ever. 

“It’s a little funny,” Arthur chuckled. 

You knew you were scowling as he lowered you gently down onto the woolen blanket. You couldn’t help it, but you both knew there was no malice in it. If anything, your annoyance just seemed to delight him more. This was a side of him you never saw when together in public. He’d introduced you to Hosea and Dutch before, and then and when out and about on other occasions he was as reserved as he was watchful. However, out here and alone, he was bright and easy-going. 

It delighted you that he could be so relaxed around you, particularly in light of his lifestyle. At first you thought he just enjoyed nature, and that was certainly part of it. Neither of you had anything to fear out here. However, the first time he had slipped into your bedroom window he had been surprisingly at ease. Much more relaxed than you had been, certainly. He was entirely unfettered by the idea of hiding under the same roof of your ignorant father, something which had at first driven you wild with worry. Since then you’d spent countless nights like that, with him easing away your anxiety with heady kisses and carnal touches. It seemed that, no matter the locale, he was happy just to be with you. 

The feeling was mutual. You treasured your time with him more than anything else. 

There was something about the young outlaw that had spoken to you from the very first time you had laid eyes on him. You’d discovered him to be bitingly clever, kind, and achingly romantic as well as a capable marksman and an intimidating figure. If it made you uneasy to see him in action at work, it was only because you feared for him. He was not as invincible as he looked, as evidenced by the broken bump in his nose and the scars peppering his bare skin. 

He had coaxed out a different side of you as well, a part of personality you’d been taught to quell. It had been Arthur who had taught you to ride, something your father had expressly forbidden. The chest at the foot of your bed was full with the naturalist guides and the drawing supplies he had snuck you. Together you had spent many nights discussing the world, the wildlife around you, and both of your hopes and fears. You’d traded not only drawings, but also memories, stories, and passion. 

It admittedly might have started just as attraction, but here you were, years later, still hopelessly fascinated by one another’s minds and bodies. You’d explored each other together. And god, if there’s anything that these weeks apart were teaching you, it’s that you wanted to give it all to him. 

From your place on the ground you watched as Arthur lowered himself to the ground in front of you. He took a moment to kiss the tip of your scrunched up nose, and your frown gradually faded into a very small, almost-shy smile. 

“Of course I’d come, Kitten.” His own grin faded a little as his eyes searched yours. The brightness of them rivalled the sky - so blue they almost burned. You were putty in that gaze. One of his rough hands cupped your chin gently. His thumb traced a burning pattern along your jaw. Achingly slowly he lent forward. A big finger pulled your chin up, and you found you were already leaning forward in expectation. 

This kiss was not like the one you had shared earlier. It smoldered with a quiet, forceful intensity. His lips were firm and insistent. _Demanding._ It was a deliciously demanding kiss. When his mouth parted against yours you welcomed his tongue eagerly, fisting your hands into his collar and arcing into him. Arthur’s breath tasted of tobacco, mint, and a hint of coffee. You swallowed the little sigh he gave as you clenched him closer, but before you could enmesh your fingers in his hair, he was pulling away. 

Your breath tangled together as you clung to one another, both breathing hard. Arthur gently bumped his nose against yours, tracing the shape of your face while he caught his breath. After a moment he smiled. 

“Ain’t nothin’ could keep me away from you.”

The look he gave you was so profound it dumbfounded you. There were no words you could give back in the face of such an expression. The trust and intensity there ached your already hammering heart. 

So you kissed him again. He was unprepared when you surged forward, throwing your arms around his neck. The weight of you sliding into his lap knocked him backwards a little, knocking him back against Atlas’ saddle with a startled “Mmph!”. You could feel his smile against your lips as he met your kiss forcefully. 

Your tongue flicked against his lips, then tangled with his. His arm slipped around your waist and pulled you closer, crushing you against his chest. You were all too compliant, shifting to wrap your thighs around his waist. The outlaw lifted you effortlessly, guiding your legs around his back without breaking your kiss. A low heat flared in your gut, flared by the fingers ghosting down your body. 

You slid your hands at the back of his head, unceremoniously knocking his hat off. Soft golden brown strands of his hair slipped between your fingers as you touched everything you could, trying your damnedest to let your body memorize his. When you gently nipped his lower lip you were rewarded with a soft groan. The sound was short lived however as, contrary to your desires, Arthur pulled away again. 

“Wait, wait, Kitten! Hold up, girl!” His laugh was breathless, and you grinned at both the sound and the nickname. “I gotta’ get these to you, before I forget.”

He twisted back to his side, shuffling around in his satchel with one free hand. The other he kept firmly around your waist. You occupied yourself by nibbling teasingly on the shell of his ear and were rewarded when he ducked his head lower against his shoulder, letting loose a chuckle. The man was hopelessly ticklish. Even so, he clutched you close as he produced his journal. 

It was still relatively fresh, having been purchased only a few months ago. The pages were still crisp, but the bindings were stained with remnants of crushed leaves and petals. Your sketchbook followed shortly after from his satchel. It was newer than his, but by no means any cleaner. Arthur generally took careful care of his things. You had no such qualms, and the spine of yours was smudged with red riverbed clay and something that smelled suspiciously like molasses. Arthur didn’t comment on it, but he rubbed a thumb over a sticky spot on the cover with an impish raised eyebrow. 

You chose not to comment and gladly took his journal from him. When you flipped it open to a random page the scent of desert sage wafted from the pages. Your brows furrowed when a dried scrap of orange slipped from the parchment, fluttering into your lap. You gasped when you recognized it. 

“Prairie poppy!” You cried, delighted. You lifted the dried specimen up between your bodies, smiling brightly. “You were down south?”

“Sure was,” Arthur murmured, watching you. 

“I can’t believe you remembered,” You chuckled. 

“How could I forget? I should probably count m’self lucky my girl likes poppies more than roses,” His lips murmured against your hair, and you had to suppress the shudder which rolled down your spine at the feeling. “Even ol’ dried, dead ones.”

“Old dried dead ones are the best,” You responded with a broad smile. “This little bastard’ll last forever.”

“Hm, don’t know about that. I’ll have to get you new ones,” Arthur commented idly, gently taking the fragile bloom and holding it up for his own inspection. “Fresh ones. A whole yard full of ‘em.”

Very carefully he slid the flower back into the pages of the journal resting haphazardly between your lap and his stomach. 

“They’ll be so fresh, you’ll hafta’ water the whole damn garden every day,” Arthur promised, casting you a sly, hooded smile. 

“Ha!” You laughed. “You get me out west with you, Mr. Morgan, we’ll be exploring too much for taking care of a place with flowers!” 

Arthur just hummed in response, taking the moment to press another little kiss to your forehead. His legs flexed beneath you, shifting in position, and you settled in snugger against his chest as you flipped the pages of his journal. Graceful sketches arced beneath your gaze as the parchment flicked by. You thought you saw your own face between pages featuring a fluid sketch of an antelope and another with a rough map of a town, but it was gone before you could make out more details. 

Out of your periphery you saw Arthur tuck your own sketchbook back into his satchel. This exchange was something you two had done for as long as you had known each other. It was your own way of writing letters and staying close. In many ways, it felt more intimate, as if you were peering into the days of each other's lives. When the time came and the two of you parted again, you both filled the respective books with observations, thoughts, and art. Upon being reunited you traded your journals back again and repeated the cycle. It was your way of staying close even when far, far apart. Arthur would always have a piece of you with him, no matter whose journal he carried or where he was. 

The book in your hands fell open to a detailed drawing of an abandoned railway encampment, all overgrown with brush and prairie grass. Arthur’s fluid scrawl captioned the sketch, but as you lent closer to read it, Arthur’s broad hand slipped between the pages and covered the words. You looked up to chide him but found he was looking at you with a heat that, had you been standing, might have brought you to your knees. 

“How ‘bout we go through ‘em tomorrow?” He asked, his voice gravelly. “I kind of, ah, just need to kiss yeh for a bit. If tha’s alright.”

You watched as his eyes flicked to your lips and then lower still, to where the collar of your blouse had slipped to reveal a swell of breast. You swallowed hard, well aware of the light throbbing which still twinged between your legs. Arthur shifted again beneath you, and you had a hunch you knew what parts of his anatomy discomforted him. 

With a smirk, you rolled one of your shoulders, leaving the hem of your button-up to slip down a little farther. The outlaw followed the slow descent with a strained jaw. 

“Mr. Morgan!” You chided, flicking a hand through your hair to toss it over your shoulder. With a lithe, sinuous movement you undulated your hips against Arthur’s lap. You were rewarded with the big man exhaling a low, shaky hiss. 

“One might think you have poor intentions towards a girl,” You purred, pulling up Arthur’s chin with a finger. He captured the tip of it with his lips and, making sure to hold your gaze, flicked his tongue salaciously against your finger. It was all too easy to imagine that tongue flitting against your clit. _Fuck._

“Don’t I?” Arthur chuckled, watching the slow flush rise into your cheeks. His voice was rich and rough with his own growing arousal. 

You laughed despite yourself. 

“I’m sure you do, you cad. C’mere. Kiss me.”

It didn’t take much more urging than that. With a low growl, the outlaw swelled forward. His hands slipped lower from where they’d pulled at your waist to cup your ass. He pulled you against his hips, broad fingers kneading your flesh. A white-hot shiver of heat shot to your core as he manhandled you, grinding your body against his. 

You could feel his cock against your inner thigh, hard and unyielding. When you rolled your hips, grinding it against your core, he answered with a rumbling growl from deep in his chest. His hands squeezed your ass again, pulling you tight against his erection. The cloth between you felt suddenly too thick, too warm, and too much. A whine slipped from your mouth as you scrambled to pull your skirt up and out from beneath Arthur’s grip over your posterior. 

Arthur was no help. In his own frenzy to feel you he hindered more than helped to bundle your skirt up high around your waist. His hands stuttered over you as he realized you had neglected to wear drawers. Eagerly he explored the newly exposed skin, tracing lines of fire down your thighs and over your ass. His callouses were deliciously rough against you, and the feeling of his broad fingers coarsely massaging the entirety of your backside drove you nearly mad. 

Frenzied, you ripped at the buttons of his shirt. When you felt his touch skim over the pucker of your ass, you started. There was a moment where his fingers stilled and you could _feel_ his smile, but his touch continued lower still. A whimper died in your chest, and you found yourself grinding against his length harder, desperately seeking relief. His chuckle burned against the column of your neck. Two fingers slipped tantalizingly lower along the wet skin of your core. When one grazed your clit you mewled.

He pulled his lips back from yours and, hair in a disarray and his eyes feverish, grinned at you. His pupils were so dilated they nearly obscured the cornflower blue of his irises. He was still watching you like that, with frenetic, hungry desire, when he slid a finger along your slit and deep into you. The cry which unfurled from your lips was loud and unabashed, and he rolled his hips against you a little harder at the sound of it. 

The solidness of his cock grinding against you and the curling of his fingers nearly undid you then and there, causing you to clench around him. A second finger joined the first, undulating slowly as a pair. The rest of his fingers, played wide and white against the flesh of your ass, ground your body against the strain in his pants. Glancing down, you could see where the slick of your arousal dampened the crotch of his trousers.

Arthur’s breath hissed against your neck as he aggressively surged his cock against you. He was panting something, hissing a word against your neck that sounded suspiciously like your name. His stubble scratched your collarbone as he buried his lips there, nipping sharply. His thighs trembled below yours. 

When you whimpered against him at the feeling his fingers sped their pace, ploughing roughly into you. The rhythmic rocking of his touch paired with the feeling of his straining cock against your clit was another rippling shot of heat to your oncoming orgasm. 

It was the increased speed and the wet, lewd sound of his skin sliding against yours that pushed you completely over the edge. White light exploded through your body, cresting into a wave of pleasure. You clenched around him, hard, and felt Arthur grunt. His hips stuttered erratically against yours as you came, releasing your pleasure with a high, wordless whine. 

When you slumped against his frame, Arthur withdrew his fingers and slid them along the drenched lips of your vulva. Overstimulation ripped through you at the touch, but, even as you flinched, goosebumps shot down your body. From experience, Arthur had learned he could undo you all over again, just from feather-light touches like this after a big orgasm. Judging by the tense need in his body, you didn’t think that’s what he had in the cards for today. 

Below your hands clenched into his shirt, Arthur’s big frame trembled with restraint. You watched as he shifted his hips slightly apart from yours, but strained fruitlessly against his pants. When you could finally lift your head to meet his gaze, his face was hungry. He drank in your flushed face greedily. You didn’t doubt you looked just as debauched as he did. With swollen and flushed lips, he caught you in another bruising kiss. His tongue crashing against yours was starved and desperate. 

If the kiss was sloppy, neither of you cared. When you broke away, the big man was left panting. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but you were already moving. Your lips traced quick wet kisses down his ear, jawline, and along the firm column of his throat. You lingered along his trapezius, skimming your nose down the swell of muscle. The nip you left there elicited a ragged grunt. 

Smiling against his skin, you pulled his hands to your breasts. Arthur immediately acquiesced to the unspoken command. His quick-draw hands made speedy work of your blouse’s buttons. He swore under his breath as one of them popped loose, but quickly jerked away the material to reveal your bare chest. His rough hands immediately palmed your breasts, gently kneading them. His fingers caught and rolled your nipples, forcing you to automatically arch your back into his touch. 

With your own oath, you shrugged out of the sleeves still on your arms, allowing the offending article of clothing to slip off your back. There was no help from Arthur for that - he was occupied by the sudden expanse of skin in his hands. 

The sudden wet heat of Arthur’s mouth on one of your nipples coaxed a ragged sigh from you. When he withdrew, the feeling of his breath against your wet skin induced your nipples to rise to his attention. Arthur was practically purring. Taking a breast in each hand, he pushed them together and flicked his tongue over both buds. The image of those hooded blue, blue eyes wantonly looking up at you from your chest was another heady lightning bolt of arousal down to your core. 

You mewled at the sensation and sight, unable and unwilling to restrain yourself. Arthur smirked and dropped his attention back to your tits, nipping and lathing at each individually while hefting both. Shuddering into the heat of his breath, you scrambled to gather your wits back to you. 

Urgently, you scrambled to unbutton the clasp of Arthur’s pants. His gun belt’s buckle knocked against your fingers, so you unclasped it as well. His belt clattered backwards, dropping his guns somewhere in the dust. You might have felt bad about that, had you not just palmed the bulge of Arthur’s cock over his trousers. You felt rather than heard his reaction against your breasts. With one hand you massaged him and with the other you scrabbled with his fly. He rolled his hips into your hand, making the task both more enjoyable and more frustrating. 

With somewhat of a growl you pulled his pants open and slipped your hand down and around his manhood. He jerked into your hand, letting out a breathy exhale at the skin to skin contact. Your mouth watered as you teased his shaft out against his abdomen. It twitched there, weeping a pearly line of precum down it’s length. The head was a deep red between your fingers when you cupped it, tracing the veins appreciatively. 

Your other hand dipped back down against the inseam of Arthur’s pants, withdrawing only when you cupped his balls. You let them rest then, hot and heavy outside his pants and bare to your ravenous gaze. Humming happily, you went to work milking his cock in your palm. Arthur dropped his head back. As you watched his eyes fluttered shut. His brow furrowed as you worked, mouth dropping open into a slack, silent moan. You were torn between watching his face and admiring the way his length twinged at your attention. 

When you licked and spat into your palm, Arthur’s eyes fluttered back open to watch. The increased lubrication coaxed a low groan from his throat as you twisted your palm and fingers around the throbbing head of his cock. He murmured your name like a prayer and shuddered when you dipped your thumb into the drop of precum beading there on the tip. Goosebumps rippled down his broad forearms. 

You grinned and leant forward, shifting to begin pumping his shaft in earnest with both hands. 

“Ki-Kitten,” Arthur’s voice was hoarse, ragged. He dropped his head forward, his chin against his chest, to watch you work with heavy, drugged eyes. He moaned softly at the sight of your hands deftly milking him. The red of his cock head dipped in and out of view, sinuously swallowed by your hands again and again. 

“Kitten,” Arthur tried again. His thighs shivered against yours. His hand shot out, stilling yours over his arousal. You met his feverish gaze with a mischievous smirk. In a wise strategic move he settled his hand over yours, wrapping his fingers around yours to prevent you from continuing your work. His cock twitched enticingly beneath your hands. 

"Darlin', I'm gonna' embarrass myself,” The young outlaw chuckled, panting hard. 

“Have to keep you humble somehow,” You purred. Without waiting for a retort, you lowered your lips to his neck. Sensuously you nibbled there, lathing the skin with your tongue. Arthur just shook his head, hissing out a loud breath as you nipped and suckled. He bit down on his lower lip while you worked. His brows were knit together so fiercely that he looked almost pained. You wished you could draw him like this, frozen on the precipice of his arousal with that burning need in those devastating blue eyes.  
  


There was no pausing to admire the bruise your lips left behind. Voraciously you began to kiss your way down Arthur’s body. When you shifted in Arthur’s arm to descend lower still, mouth already watering at the thought of tasting his weight on your tongue, you were met with an iron grip pinning you in place. 

“Wha-?” 

“Oh no you don’t, Kitten,” Arthur growled. And then you were being lifted, Arthur’s elbows firmly crooked beneath your knees. You squeaked as Arthur hefted you down and backwards, onto your back and deep down into the tall grass. Arthur followed promptly, kneeling over you. Pinned down by his weight over your pelvis, you wiggled wantonly. Arthur ignored you, steadfastly focused on his task. With one hand he braced himself, and with the other he fumbled with the waistband of your skirt. Ribbons of heat shot through your body at the rough handling.

The clasp of your skirt proved too much for Arthur’s patience. The fabric was tugged down and over your hips unceremoniously. Eager to be bare to him, you wiggled out of it. The offending article of clothing was quickly tossed to the side. Arthur paused, stilling over you. He drank in your body, momentarily stupefied. His face softened. 

As much as you loved that look, you did not want it right now. Right now you wanted hard. Shooting him a wicked smirk, you slid your fingers back around his width. Tauntingly you skimmed a feather-light touch up the length of him, savoring the involuntary shiver the action invoked. With his full attention, you licked your palm and enveloped his head with a slick, wet sliding motion of your palm. Your nails traced lazy circles under and around his glans. 

“God damn it, Kitten,” Arthur growled. Hastily he pushed his pants lower, shrugging haphazardly to rid himself of his suspenders. One slid down his shoulder, resting around his shirt cuff, while the other fell free. Arthur didn’t seem to care. If you kept this up, it seemed that it was hard treatment you would get after all. 

You loved when he got like this. Soft, tender touches had their place, certainly. But pushing him until his restraint snapped would always be one of your favorite little games. Today, it seemed like you might just win. 

You grinned, flashing that coy, lascivious look at him that you knew drove him wild. Deliberate and slow you propped your thighs open around his waist. In the gap between your bodies you casually dipped the head of his cock through the slick of your arousal. The wet skin of your vulva slicked against the burning heat of his skin. The sound and feeling of the skin-to-skin contact sent shudders through the both of you. Arthur groaned and sagged into your touch. 

With unwavering eye contact you rubbed his cock in slow, wet circles through your labia. Arthur watched with a pained look, biting his lip. Unable to resist, he pulsed his hips shallowly against you. With the hand he wasn’t using to brace himself, he traced a feather-light pattern over your bottom lip. You licked teasingly against his thumb, and his lips twisted into a wry, warning smile. 

“Kitten…” Arthur started again, his voice warning. 

“What?” You asked, eyes dancing mischievously. 

“We talked about this,” The big man grunted. Not liking his answer, you milked your hand over the base of his cock. Through strained panting he continued. “We should wait. I ain’t done much right in life so far.” 

Although his body held you in place, the look on his face could have stopped a bullet. Cornflower-blue eyes burned, loving and determinedly intense, into yours. They alone held you down better than any great weight could have. 

“You know I want to do right by you,” he murmured. 

You understood. Of course you did. How could you not, when he looked at you like this? It was the face of a man laying his soul bare. But god, it was fucking hard. 

“Until marriage, Arthur?” You tried to ignore how your voice cracked. “You got a ring yet?”

Arthur chuckled, low and deep. 

“Soon, Kitten. So inpatient.”

“Can you blame me?” You growled. 

“Fuck, not really, no,” Arthur hissed, his eyes flicking back down to where his shaft lay thick and hard between your lips. 

“What about when we’re engaged?” You ventured, rocking your hips tentatively. You both watched as his cock slicked easily between your mons, glistening and wet. 

“Engaged?” Arthur asked, his voice strained. Slowly you began to grind beneath him, letting his erection glide back and forth through your labia. The head throbbed, and as you watched, a milky rivulet of precum dripped and slid down over your skin. You bobbed Arthur’s cock into it, smearing the mess. The slick, wet sound pulled a shudder from Arthur. 

You met his gaze again, grinning, as he began rutting against you. Letting go of his length, you instead gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him over you. You both watched as the head of his cock dipped in and out from between your lips. 

Arthur grunted. His brow was furrowed hard over his eyes, which were glued to the coarse sight. Golden brown hair curled from where your grip had mussed it and stuck to his forehead, dark with sweat. His big body curled and arched over yours as he moved. 

“I can do engaged,” He groaned. 

“Soon?” You mewled desperately. Your hips ground against his, seeking more friction. 

“Fuck yes,” He hissed. Suddenly he gripped your thighs and pulled, lifting you tighter against him. He shifted above you and, grasping himself, re-angled his cock against your skin. The next sharp thrust jutted against your clit. 

You cried out at the sensation, hands scrabbling along his arms. He pulsed his hips again, and you saw stars. 

“That’s my girl,” He murmured with a feral smile. 

Your mouth dropped open into a light pant. You started to whimper his name, but abandoned it with a cry when his hips snapped, viciously hard, against your thighs. You squirmed and bucked as Arthur slammed against you. His cock hammered against your clit, crescendoing into an abrupt and brutal pace. 

The sound of skin on wet skin filled the air. 

Arthur swore. One of his hands gripped the meat of your thigh, pulling you hard against his thrusts. He gripped you so hard that white lines formed around his fingers in the divets of your flesh. The other hand went to one of your breasts. The rough skin of his palm rasped as he began kneading the flesh roughly. 

His lips fell open into a silent snarl, eyes boring over your body as he took you. His cock jutted obscenely between your thighs, the head bright and garish. Your skin gleamed in the light, wet with your own arousal and the weeping flow of Arthur’s precum. 

He pounded against you relentlessly. You wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the pace even if you tried, but Arthur didn’t let you. His grip on your body slammed it against his, driving you together savagely. Every breath you took escaped your lips in short, rapid cries. 

“Tell me, tell me how bad you want it,” Arthur panted. 

“Fuck, yeah, Arthur, I want it so bad,” You whined. “I want your cock filling me up. Want to feel you inside me. Want you to pound into me, just like this.”

Arthur growled at your words. 

“I want that too, pretty girl. Want to fuck you so hard that you can’t walk straight. Want to pound into you ‘till you’re covered in me, ‘till you’re just fucking screamin’ my name.”  
  


“Yeah?” You gasped. “Want to cum in me, fill me right up?”

At that he slammed against you particularly ferociously and your eyes rolled behind your eyelids, shorting out your vision in a blast of white. You shouted his name and spasmed in place.

“Shit, yeah. Want to see you so full of it,” Arthur grunted, “It runs down your pretty little legs.” 

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes -”

“‘Whole world’s gonna’ know you’re fucking _mine_.” Arthur snarls. 

His hand shot from your breast to your lower neck, pinning you down while he used you. 

“Fuck, _yes!”_ You cried out. His hand dug into your collar, and you came hard. 

White blanketed your vision, washing the world away but for the blast of pleasure wracking your body. Bliss shot through your nerves, spreading fire from your clit to every muscle, every nerve. You were vaguely aware of your body spasming below Arthur’s, but you didn’t care. Your legs, wrapped as they were around Arthur’s pelvis, quivered wildly against his back. Your fingernails gouged and scratched fruitlessly against the cords of muscle in Arthur’s arms. 

Arthur rutted wildly, his thrusts growing erratic. His balls slapped against your skin. The sound was heavy in your ears as you writhed and jerked on his cock, riding out pulse after pulse of aftershock. Watching you cum undid him. With a hoarse shout Arthur followed you.

His shoulders tensed and his hips snapped, bucking mercilessly. His grip was iron. A shudder raced up his spine and down his arms, and his face was tight with pleasure. Arcs and ropes of cum shot from his cock, painting your pelvis and abdomen. He continued to buck, the jerky-strokes of the head of his cock smearing his pleasure on your skin. 

His hands shivered in their grip, and gradually softened. When the last tremor had wracked his body, Arthur slumped, tensionless. His head dropped, forehead sliding against yours to settle on your shoulder. You both watched, dazed, as his cock pulsed and twitched against the mess you’d both made. You flinched slightly when the length grazed your swollen clit, so Arthur adjusted himself to rest to the side. 

Your shared panting filled the space between your bodies as you lay there, both disoriented and euphorically empty of thoughts. 

Arthur was the first to break the shared silence.

“Kitten, that was... somethin’ else.”

You huffed a laugh against him.

“You’re somethin’ else, Arthur.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you felt his tired, pleased smile against your skin. Lazily, you skimmed your fingers over the planes of his back through his shirt. You were rewarded with light shivers and an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. 

With an exhausted groan, Arthur pushed himself up and backward, rising on his knees. You both regarded the sloppy mess which arced from your stomach to your thighs. When he met your gaze, it was with that same lopsided, albeit lazy and satisfied, grin.

The love in his eyes burned. Neither of you had to voice it out loud - your bodies just had. There would be plenty of opportunities to whisper it in his ear later in the day and into the night. Right now there was nothing to do but luxuriate in the satisfaction of a morning well spent. There was still much to do with regards to that. 

“You hungry?” You asked, arcing a brow playfully. 

“Pretty satiated, actually,” Arthur huffed a chuckle. 

You smirked at the double entendre and struggled up onto your elbows. Arthur lazily watched you, clearly enjoying the sight. You were fairly certain you’d find this moment captured in his journal. 

“Huh, guess you don’t need the almond scones I baked then,” You smiled, miming a scoff. 

“I could be interested,” Arthur drawled, eyes sparking. 

You grinned and attempted to rise into a sitting position. Arthur’s guiding hands were there instantly when your strength failed and you nearly slipped back down again. He was there, close and solid, pulling your weight against his.

You lapsed against him with a happy sigh. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you heard him shuffle around behind you, presumably digging for a rag to clean you both up with. When he found one and gently wiped you down, you murmured soft compliments against his chest. He didn’t respond, but the light flush and smile on his skin was acknowledgement enough. 

“Back to your place, darlin’ girl?” He asked, capturing your chin. He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, and you captured his lips with your own in answer. The resulting kiss was long and sweet with no bite to it. There was nothing in it but mutual adoration, love, and appreciation. 

“Mhhm hmm,” You breathed, breaking the kiss. “But let’s wait a bit. I’m not ready to leave.”

Arthur smiled and tucked himself back into his pants. Your fingers made shabby work of opening his shirt, seeking skin-to-skin contact. 

He hummed his agreement and rolled your body over his. When you were settled against his chest he sank back, pulling the two of you back deep below the cover of the tall grass. The sleepy late-summer warmth enveloped your skin, but goosebumps still followed the path of Arthur’s lazy fingertips over your skin. He held you tight and you found you never wanted to leave his hold again. 

Crickets called, filling the meadow with their low buzz. Red-winged blackbird calls arced overhead. Somewhere nearby, you thought you could hear the casual shuffle and munches of Atlas. Azure sky flitted between the lush leaves of the tree above you, mirroring the memory of Arthur’s gaze. His eyes were closed somewhere over your head, and his chest rose and fell gently beneath you. The slow, methodical thump of his heartbeat eased your breathing to match his. 

Arthur’s casual tracing over your body gently slowed to a stop, and his hands stilled over your waist and back. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so relaxed. Helpless to resist, you felt yourself slip into the fringes of sleep. 

“I love you, Kitten,” Arthur murmured languidly. 

You would have replied, but you were already out. 

Arthur waited for your response for a moment, then craned his neck to see your face. He watched you, smiling and asleep on his chest, before dropping his head back to the soft earth with a broad, pleased smile. His arms tightened around your body and you snuggled closer beneath his chin. 

Arthur’s eyes flickered shut. For the first time in a while, he was content. The summer day was shaping up to be a beautiful one, and he was back at your side once more. It would be a long week before he had to leave again, and he intended to enjoy every moment of it. He fell asleep knowing his future was truly secure in his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please seriously consider commenting! It's what keeps us writers going!


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